


Who Are You?

by FoxyWolfMeerkat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fainting, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 08:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12104619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxyWolfMeerkat/pseuds/FoxyWolfMeerkat
Summary: Of all the first things you could say to a person-





	Who Are You?

Dorian sits in the Circle dormitory, gritting his teeth and staring at the back of his right hand as though any minute the tattoo there would change.  
 _Who are you?  
_ He bites the back of his lip hard to stop the whimper. Holds back the tears out of habit. How many times had he already heard those words? Men, women, teachers, rivals, sometimes children. Many were dismissable of course. Oh but when it wasn’t-

He’d met the most handsome young man today. With skin like nice whiskey and the most devious looking smile. They’d been paired together for a duel, and at the end of it…  
“Who are you?”

Dorian had always imagined his soulmate asking that, searching for the elegant, confident introduction he’d been practicing since boyhood.

“Dorian of House Pavus, late of Qarinus. And you?”  
He gave that wicked smile, “I’m Rilienus Abrexis. You cast very well Dorian.”  
No recognition. No shock or awe or lights in his light brown eyes or a little gasp.  
Like always.

Was he saying the wrong thing? How else could he answer?  
Was he just doomed to be married off to some random woman? To live in the sort of heartless (and worse) marriage his parents had?

Dorian threw himself out of bed, dressing down and sneaking out of the Circle to get drunk and cry.

He’d hear ‘Who are you?’ twice more that night alone.

* * *

“Good! You’re finally here! Now help me close this, will you?” Dorian greeted the members of the infamous Inquisition with a quick smile, far more focused on the fade rift in the middle of the Redcliff Chantry, and the demons coming out of it naturally.  
He may have left it at that until the end of the fight, if it hadn’t been for the surprised cries of ‘Herald!’ seconds later. They hadn’t even been attacked yet, but the elf leading the small group was suddenly sprawled unconscious on the floor.  
“Does he normally do that?” Dorian slammed his staff to the ground to set a few of the demons ablaze and keep them occupied. “Seems terribly inconvenient. A touch dangerous, and not in a good way.”  
“No, I have never seen him do this before,” the paler elf replied, voice pitched up with concern.  
“I have, once. He will be back up momentarily, I am certain.” The black haired Nevarran was the only non-mage in the group. And the least disturbed by the show, if not by much.  
“He’s already coming too dears, but let’s keep the demons occupied.” The other woman stood protectively by the fallen Herald of Andraste. The man had yet to sit up but had take hold of one of her legs.

 

Three downed demons later and Dorian finally had all of their helping hands. He may have been more worried, but the elf seemed quite steady, even quick, on his feet and he was casting well. That, and his Nevarran companion had been correct about his swift recovery, it was fair enough to assume she was right about him being fine as well.

They’d talk after the Herald snapped the rift closed.

“Fascinating. How does that work exactly?” He tilted his head at the other mage, but only got a blank stare in response. Dorian couldn’t contain his incredulous laugh. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and **boom** : rift _closes_.”  
The (rather cute now that Dorian could really get a look at him) elf finally found his voice. “Who are you?”  
“Ah, getting ahead of myself again I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.” He gave a little bow for good measure. “How do you do?”  
“Another Tevinter,” the Nevarran warned, “be cautious with this one.”  
“Suspicious friends you have here…” He may have continued but the look on the man’s face gave him pause.  
The Herald’s eyes were wide, right hand over his mouth as though he’d just said or overheard something absolutely horrific. His brows looked about ready to detach from his face and fly away.  
“What? Is there something on my face?” Dorian was tempted to look behind himself but those bright red eyes were very clearly digging right into him.  
“Ar'abelas'is… Venuralasala, tel'eolasas! …I’ve never said anything so _thoughtless_ in my life!”  
“Asking me who I am is-” Dorian felt ice fill his chest, glancing down to his right hand as it squeezed into a fist, just like it’s twin.  
“Nas'falon… _You’re finally here!_ ” He said it with awe and lights in his enrapturing red eyes. His smile was angelic and his skin was like whiskey and it glowed like a sunset. _He_ glowed like a sunset in recognition. His right hand gripped his left side tightly, bunching up his enchanter’s coat in his fist.  
The Nevarran woman gasped as she caught up to what was going on as well. Dorian lost the sound in the buzzing that was filling his head. Here? Now? _The Herald of Andraste?!_  
“Well… That’s unexpected.” He glanced to the Chantry entrance. He was here for a reason, they’d have time for… everything later. If the Herald ended up dead there’d be little time to enjoy his company. “I apologize for not letting the happy moment last longer but you _are_ still in danger. That _was_ the whole premise of this little meeting after all. But I assure you, it’s hardly going to be the last; I just got one more reason to be invested in all this business after all!”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations (Credit to Project Elvhen):  
> Ar'abelas'is – I am so sorry  
> Venuralasala, tel'eolasas – Gods, [you] don’t know/understand  
> Nas'falon – Soul mate


End file.
